Snippets
by Saturn Shumba
Summary: A series of drabbles.  Arnold and Helga, living.
1. Alternate Confession

_AN (for entire series): Drabbles to keep my brain awake so I can finish this "epic" story I've been thinking about for months but have been to lazy to put to paper. Anything goes, folks._

_AN (for this chapter): What if Helga's FTI confession went a bit differently? (AU)_

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><p>"Maybe I don't hate you as much as I thought, okay? I guess maybe I even kinda like you a little. Heck, you might even kinda say that I like you a lot."<p>

"You do? You did this for me?"

Helga turned around and faced Arnold, a frustrated look on her face. "That's right, hair-boy! I mean, criminey, what else are you supposed to do when someone you love is in trouble?"

Arnold stared at her, confused. "Love?"

Helga's heart filled with dread. Crap. She hadn't meant to go that far. She searched his eyes, desperately trying to think of a way to save this whole mess.

Arnold cleared his throat. "Helga," he said quietly, "Are you saving that you love—"

"GERALD!" she cried out. Arnold took a step back in surprise. Helga laughed nervously. "I love…Gerald."

Arnold didn't say anything. He looked like didn't believe her. He opened his mouth to reply, but Helga cut him off.

"I mean, yeah, I did this whole Deep Voice thing for you. But only because you're Gerald's best friend. I mean, I like you and all, Arnold-o, but it doesn't even come close to how much I care about…Gerald."

She couldn't believe what she was saying. Arnold seemed to share her disbelief.

"Wow." Arnold shook his head. "This is a lot to take in…I need to lie down."

_Oh, how I long to go with you_, Helga thought. She grabbed his hand. "No time for that now. You have to save the neighborhood!"

She knew her declaration of love for Gerald wasn't the best solution. But she'd deal with that later. At least, for now, her secret was safe.

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><p>Once Arnold had saved the day and the neighborhood was safe, he pulled her aside.<p>

"Look, Helga, about what happened on the rooftop…"

"Heat of the moment!" She blurted out. Arnold tilted his head, confused. Oh crap, that made no sense at _all_.

"Uh, I mean…" She looked down at her scuffed shoes. "Look, Arnold…"

"I won't tell him."

She looked back up. "You won't?"

He smiled, kindly. "It's not my place."

She swooned inwardly as he walked back towards Gerald. _Oh, Arnold, so noble, so kind so—_

Gerald looked at her curiously from across the street.

-_I'm so stupid._

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><p>Helga didn't think anything would change between her and Arnold post, uh, "confession". But when school started, he began talking to her more. Weekly conversations turned daily. She grew so fond of holding normal, insult free conversations with him that she eased up on the bullying. She realized she hadn't thrown a spitball at him in ages.<p>

Eventually, Arnold broached the 'Helga loves Gerald' topic. She supposed that was his goal all along.

"You should just tell him," he said.

Helga shook her head. "You know I could never do that to Phoebe," she chided. "Besides, I kind of like loving him from afar. It's…I dunno, romantic."

Arnold rested his hand on top of hers. "I just want you to be happy, Helga."

Helga's heart thudded furiously. _You have no idea how happy I am_.

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><p>Arnold managed to convince her to reveal her "true feelings" at Rhonda's winter party bash. She'd agreed—but only because the Gerald charade had gone on long enough. Feelings<em> were<em> going to be revealed at Rhonda's party, that was certain, but they were going to be Helga's feelings about _Arnold_, not Gerald.

They walked to Rhonda's house together. When they reached her stoop, Arnold tugged on Helga's arm to stop her.

She looked at him, confused. "What?"

Arnold ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Helga, I know you love Gerald—" Helga cringed a little, but he didn't notice—"and I know I probably shouldn't say what I'm about to say, but…God, I hope you don't hate me for what I'm about to say..."

Panic crept its way up her body. "You told him, didn't you?"

"What? No! No, I promise I didn't do that."

Helga relaxed a little but tensed up again when he grabbed her hand.

"Helga…I love you."

She shrieked. Arnold cringed.

"I know! I just…we've been spending all this time together and…you're such an amazing person. Look, I know you can never love me. But I had to tell you, Helga. I'm sorry—"

She grabbed his face and kissed him. Kissed him the way she wanted to kiss him all those months ago, on top of the FTI building.

She pulled away, her eyes opening slowly. His eyes were wide with shock.

"It was never Gerald. It was always you," she said softly. "Uh, sorry for all the confusion," she added, her cheeks burning.

Arnold pulled her into a hug. "You're lucky I'm very forgiving."

She laughed into his shoulder. "I think that just means you love me."

"True." He pulled away. "Hey, say it back."

She smiled mischievously. "'It back'?"

"Helga…"

"Okay, okay, jeez. I..I love you."

He smiled and kissed her.


	2. Changes

Arnold's relationship with Helga didn't change much after they got back from San Lorenzo.

Well, some things changed. Helga had stopped with the spitballs, finally. At least with him—Arnold noticed that she still shot the occasional one at Harold and Gerald (much to his friend's annoyance).

But as far as their relationship went…nothing was different, really. She still insulted him, he still took it in stride, she still called him football-head, and he still ended most of their conversations with a sigh and a "Whatever you say, Helga."

They even were still paired together for school projects. And their partnership still played out the same as before: bickering start, then full out fighting, then a shaky truce, then actual getting along, and finally project completion and friendship success.

The bell for lunch rang after they were done presenting their results to the class. Everyone filed out quickly, including the teacher, and soon they were all alone in the classroom.

Helga turned towards him and smiled. "We always make a good team in the end, huh?" She tugged at one of her pigtails, hanging low over the front of her shoulders; he noticed at the beginning of the year that she started wearing them lower.

Arnold smiled back and nodded.

And then, just like that, they were kissing.

Arnold had no idea who made the first move. (Later, he figured out that they had moved towards each other at the same time, making the kiss completely mutual.)

They both pulled away with a wet smack, eyes wide.

He expected it to be awkward. It would make total sense if it was awkward.

But it wasn't. She gave him a small smile, and pressed her hand against his cheek. He closed his eyes, holding onto the moment.

"Wow," he whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back. He opened his eyes. She gave him a lopsided grin.

"Let's eat, football-head. I'm starving. Heck, I may even let you buy me lunch or something."

Arnold rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Whatever you say, Helga." He held open the door for her and followed her out into the hall.


	3. Racy

_AN: Teenagers!_

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><p>Helga walked slowly up the stairs towards her room, trying not to drop the pile of junk food she held in her arms. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open with her foot, dropping the pile onto her dresser.<p>

"We're in luck, Arnold. Miriam remembered to stock up before going on her 5th honeymoon with Bob! Wait, is it the 5th or 6th? Well, whatever. Food! What do you want to eat first?" She turned towards him and her heart dropped into her stomach. Arnold was sitting on her bed, reading a book.

A pink book.

"Hey-hey-hey-hey!" She ran towards him and snatched the book out of his hands, tossing it towards her closet. "Where did you get that?"

He looked up at her. "I found it under your pillow."

Helga groaned. "Arnold," she whined, "you know you're not supposed to read my pink books! Those are works in progress! Just story ideas. Very rough stuff."

He stood up. "That one didn't have any story ideas. It was filled with poems."

Helga turned around abruptly and walked stiffly towards her dresser. She started organizing the junk food packets into neat lines. "Oh?" she said, calmly. On the inside, she was freaking out. She _totally_ forgot that she busted out her old poetry journal last night. She didn't write much poetry these days, after discovering her love for the short story format way back in 8th grade, but every once in a while she'd get inspired and write a sappy poem about Arnold. Cause that's who all her poems were about, still. Arnold. Sure, her short stories could be about anything, but Helga G. Pataki could not write a poem about anyone or anything else but Arnold. She cursed the green jellybeans she ate last night for inspiring her to write in that notebook.

She heard him walk towards her. He rested his hands on her shoulders.

"You wrote about our first time," he whispered in her ear.

Oh God, could this night get any more _mortifying_? Of all the poems in that fucking book, he read the one about the first time they had sex? That flowery monstrosity? Oh God-oh God-oh God—

Arnold whirled her around and kissed her. Helga stood there, shocked, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Her lips moved against his only out of habit. Arnold's hands slid underneath her t-shirt. He coaxed her arms up, pulling away from her lips for a split second to pull her shirt over her head before diving back into the kiss.

He was working on her bra when she pushed him away slightly. "What?" he panted, disappointed.

"I just want to get something straight here. So all this—" she gestured between them—"is because you liked my sex poem?"

His hands slid down her back, resting on her hips. "Well…yeah." His cheeks were tinged pink.

She smiled brightly, and walked him backwards toward her bed, pushing him down on it. She climbed on top of him. "Well then," she said, leaning over him. "Keep going."

He smiled and leaned up, kissing her again. And as his hands went back to work on taking off her bra, ideas for hundreds of racy poems raced through Helga's mind.


	4. Gestures

_AN: Post-FTI, pre-TJM._

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><p>Arnold had been spacing out a lot lately.<p>

…Not like that was anything new. But lately, he'd been spacing out in one particular direction.

He wasn't even thinking about her. He was thinking about Grandma's pancakes, Grandpa's advice, Gerald's tall tales. He was dreaming about flying into the jungle, lost in the clouds, eyes closed and heart open as the plane took him to people he lost.

And then he'd snap out of it and be staring right into Helga's face.

It was always awkward. He'd always be gone long enough for her to realize that he'd been spacing out. He'd come back and she'd be staring right at him, brow furrowed.

The first few times it happened, she'd snap 'What?' and he'd turn away quickly, embarrassed. As it continued, he'd come to and see her twirling her trusty spitball straw slowly between her fingers; he'd turn away just in time to avoid a spitball directly to the front of his face (but not fast enough to escape getting hit on the back of his head).

But lately…

He'd snap out of it and she would just stare at him. And he would just…stare back. He'd stare long enough to see past the irritation and the confusion in her eyes.

He'd stare long enough to see her compassion. He was amazed she'd let him see that. Maybe she didn't know he could see that.

But the way she'd tap her face, two times, right below her right eye, made him think she did know. Or maybe that gesture meant something else. He wasn't sure. She was a hard girl to figure out.

But the fact that she had a gesture, one just for him…well.

Maybe he wasn't sure what it meant, but he was happy he had one.

Better than a spitball, anyway.


End file.
